What if you could gather all the people you were in a room for a reunion?
You as a baby. You the toddler. You the seven-year-old in hideous 70’s plaid pants. The one who had a Dorothy Hamil haircut that made you look like a boy. You as a 13-year-old girl picking out an outfit for “Beach Day” at your private Catholic girls’ school. You the high school senior on top of the world, the one who has her first real boyfriend, acceptances at almost every college she applied to, near-perfect grades, and a close-knit group of supportive friends. You the college student making a series of life-altering non-decisions.
You the girl/woman freshly arrived in Los Angeles, seeking fame and fortune. The homesick young woman flying back to Connecticut for every wedding and family party, racking up credit card debt, even as you were digging deeper roots a country away. You the bride, barking orders right before you hyperventilated your way down the long aisle. You the honeymooner, the party planner, the TV producer, the swollen, pregnant home-bound home-remodeler. You, the first-time mother, crying in the middle of the night with happiness or fatigue or frustration or all of the above. You, the mother of two.
You as you are right now.
What if you could have a party with all of those people? Would it be a cocktail party at an elegant restaurant or a rollicking hootenanny? Would it be inside or outside? A dinner party? A playdate? Which you would hold the baby you? Which you would chase the toddler you, or entertain the 7-year-old you, or ask the 13-year-old you if she is enjoying school, or bore the 17-year-old you with endless questions about where she is going to college?
And how many you’s would actually show up? How different have you been in your life? Is the number infinite? Is the now you different from the you you were this morning, or last week? When something huge happened, was there one you from before, and another you after?
The me I am now thinks this would be one bitchin’ party.